! 


THE 

VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 

A  COMEDIETTA, 
IN  ONE  ACT. 

FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF 

FRANCOIS  COPPEE. 

^'^Kv  ^rformea  at  the  Comedie  Frangais,  Paris,  May  2S,  1876. 


TOGETHER  WITH 

A.  DESCRIPTIGN  OF  THE  COSTUMES— CAST  OP  THE  CHARACTERS — EN- 
TRANCES AND  EXITS — RELATIVE  POSITIONS  OF  THE  PERFORM- 
ERS ON  THE  STAGE,  AND  THE  WHOLE  OP  THE  STAGUl 
BUSINESS. 


Chicago  and  New  York 
THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

CJopy right,  1892,  by  R.  H.  Russell  &  Son. 


2 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Com^  die  Frangais^ 
Paris,  May  28,  1876. 
1'adeo  Farrari,  the  violiu  maker  M.  Thison. 

FiLIPPO,  his  pupil  M.  COQUELIN. 

Sandro,  his  pupil   M.  Laroche. 

GiANNiNA,  his  daughter.  Mile.  Barretta. 

Pages,  citizens,  violiu  makers. 


Olympic  Theatfe, 
London,  July.lU,  '77, 
Mr.  W.  J.  Hill. 
Mr.  Henry  Neville. 
Mr.  Forbes  Robertson. 
Miss  Gerard. 


The  scene  is  laid  in  Cremona,  about  the  j^ear  1750. 


TIME  IN  PLAYING— THIRTY  MINUTES. 


SCENERY. 

Interior  in  3d  grooves.  Street  backing. 
 Door  


Door. 


Door. 


O  O 

OOOOOCOOOOOOOOO 
The  violiu  maker's  workshop  and  sales-room;  high  wainscoted  wall,  hung  with 
musical  instruments,  portraits  of  old  musicians,  etc.  Doors  r.  and  l.  ;  glass  door 
c.  iu  F  ;  street  flat  for  backing;  A,  counter  with  musical  instruments  on  it;  arm- 
chair and  table  r.  o.;  B,  desk;  tools  and  uncompleted  violins  laying  about  on 
shelves  and  table. 


COSTUMES. 

Ferrari.— First  dress:  Brown  coat,  dark  waistcoat,  black  breeches,  brown  stock- 
ings, cocked  hat,  unpowdeied  wig.  Second  dress:  Powdered  wig,  gokl- 
headed  cane,  sky-bine  coat,  laced  waistcoat,  dark  breeches,  buckled  shoes. 

FiLippo.  A  hunchback. — Three-cornered  hat,  buckled  shoes,  "brown  coat,  light 
waistcoat,  ruffled  shirt. 

SvNDRO. — Gay  attire:  gilt  buttons,  light  hair,  lace  ruffles  and  cuffs, 

GlANNiNA — Wliite  holiday  attire:  RonuiM  s'lsli.  i)uckled  shoes,  hair  in  ribbons. 

Pages,  citizeris  baniiennen  and  violin  makers,  iu  holiday  attire  and  decorated  w:tn 
rosettes  and  favors. 


RBIWPDTE  STORAGS'- 

THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA.  ? 


PROPERTIES. 

Two  violins,  one  in  a  red  and  one  in  a  black  case;  wine  basket  with  bottles  in  it; 
vase;  napkin;  gold  chain  ou  cushion;  rosettes;  ribbons;  banner;  flowers;  prayer 
book. 


STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

R  means  Right  of  Stage,  facing  the  Audience;  L.  Left;  C.  Centre;  R.  C.  Right  of 
Centre;  L.  C.  Left  of  Centre;  D.  F.  Door  in  the  Flat,  or  Scene  running  across  the 
back  of  Uie  Stage;  C.  D.  F.  Centre  Door  in  the  Flat;  R.  D.  F.  Right  Door  in  the 
Flat-  L  D.  F.  Left  Door  in  the  Flat;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door;  1  E.  First 
Euti'auce;  2  E.  Second  Entrance;  .U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  1,  2  or  3  G.  First,  Second 
or  Third  Groove. 

R.  R.  C.  C.  L.  C.  L. 

The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  upon  the  stage,  facing  the  audience. 


SYNOPSIS. 

Coppee's  charming  poem,  -  Le  Luthier  de  Cremone."  was  first  produced  at  the 
Theatre  Frangais.  May  23d,  1876,  Coquelin  creating  the  part  of  Filippo,  the  hunch- 
back lover.  Since  that  time  it  has  been  done  into  English ;  and  various  versions, 
both  in  prose  and  verse,  have  been  produced  in  London  by  Mr.  Henry  Neville,  Mr. 
E.  S.  Willard,  and  other. 

It  is  a  simple  story,  but  affords  opportunity  for  sounding  a  most  delicate  note  of 
pathos  in  the  character  of  Filippo,  which  Coquelin  acted  so  inimitably.  Tadeo 
Feur^rt,  the  master  violin  maker  of  Cremona,  has  promised  the  hand  of  his  daugh- 
ter  to  the  apprentice  who  shall  win  the  gold  chain  offered  by  the  Podesta  to  the  one 
who  sliall  make  the  best  violin.  Filippo,  the  hunchback,  and  Sandro,  both  pupils 
of  Feruari,  and  both  in  love  with  his  daughter,  Giannina,  are  striving  for  the 
prize.  The  day  on  which  the  award  is  to  be  made  has  arrived,  and  the  violins  are 
finished.  Filippo  has  not  dared  to  tell  Giannina  that  he  is  competing  for  tlie 
prize,  but  hopes  in  winning  it  to  gain  her  love.  Giannina  loves  Sandro,  and  ques. 
tions  him  as  to  the  chance  of  his  victory  in  the  contest.  Sandro  has  heard  Filippo 
trying  the  tone  of  his  instrument,  and  tells  Giannina  that  if  he  is  defeated  it  will  be 
by  the  hunchback. 

"  Giannina  reproaches  Filippo  for  his  failure  to  confide  in  her,  and  tells  him  that 
she  loves  Sandro.  The  poor  cripple,  realizing  that  he  cannot  win  Giannina^s  love, 
g(^iierously  resolves  to  insure  his  rival's  victory  by  substituting  Jds  violin  for  San 
DRo's,  as  they  are  lying  side  by  side.  When  he  has  done  this,  Sandro  comes  in  to 
take  his  violin  before  the  judges.  Filippo  asks  him  to  carry  his  instrument  to  tbe 
competition.  Sandro  agrees,  but,  seized  with  jealousy  and  fear  of  his  rival's  suc- 
cess, changes  the  instruments  in  their  cases  before  presenting  them  to  the  judges. 
Overcome  with  remorse,  he  returns  to  Filippo  and  confesses  his  treachery.  Filippo 
tells  him  that  he  has  sacrificed  his  certainty  of  success,  in  so  doing,  as  he  himself 
had  previously  changed  the  violins.  Shouts  are  heard  proclaiming  Filippo  the 
victor,  and  the  pages  enter  bearing  the  gold  chain.  Filippo  puts  it  about  Gian- 
NiNA's  neck  and  places  her  hand  in  Sandro's.  relinquishing  his  claim  to  her,  and 
taking  his  violin  Avhich  alone  can  console  him  for  his  self-sacrifice. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/violinmakerofcreOOcopp 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


SCENE.— Interior  of  the  shop  of  Ferrari,  the  Violin  Maker,  C(irtai7t 
rises  discoveriNg  Master  Ferrari  and  Giannina;  he  is  seated  in 
an  arm-chair^  and  is  slightly  intoxicated. 

Ferrari.  No,  Giannina,  I  have  given  the  word  of  an  honest  man; 
and  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Tadeo  Ferrari,  Master  of  the  Violin  Makers 
of  Cremona,  I  am  going  to  keep  it. 

GfANNiNA  {p'eadiiigly).  But,  dear  father  

Fer.  It  is  of  no  use  to  talk;  would  you  have  me  disgrace  our  trade 
by  breaking  my  promise— I,  its  leader  and  manager,  and  bearer  of  the 
banner  in  our  procession  ?  No;  when  the  contest  is  decided  you  shall 
be  married,  as  1  have  said. 

GiAN.  Do  you  not  consider  me  in  the  matter  at  all  ? 

FEft.  Consider  you  !  It  is  a  great  honor  for  you.  Our  old  Podesta — 
peace  to  his  soul! — wishing  to  make  our  instruments  still  more  famous 
in  tlie  future,  has  left  his  gold  chain  to  the  apprentice  in  our  city  who 
will  make  the  best  violin;  and  I,  a  simple  artisan,  inspired  by  this  tine 
example,  have  pledged  my  daughter  and  my  house  to  the  wiimer  of  the 
prize.  Will  you  not  consider  it  tin  honor  to  have  for  a  husband  the 
tinest  young  violin  maker  of  Cremona? 

GiAN.  But,  fatiier,  I  have  told  you  there  is  some  one  I  care  for. 

Fkr.  Oh,  Sandro?  Well,  he  lias  tlie  same  chance  as  the  others,  and 
if  he  is  not  successful  you  must  forget  him. 

GiAN.  Ah !  it  is  easy  to  say  forget  him ;  but  suppose  the  winner  is 
some  scamp,  unworthy  of  me  ? 

Fer.  a  skillful  workman  is  always  an  honest  man. 

GrAN.  Some  lazy  fellow,  with  no  care  for  the  future  ? 

FEii.  As  he  can  command  the  highest  wages,  he  can  aflford  to  be  lazy 
at  times. 

GiAN.  A  brute  who  would  beat  his  wife.    You  know  there  are  such. 
Fkii.  If  he  has  not  peace  at  home,  I  for  one  would  not  blame  him. 
GiAN.  A  drunkard  perhaps — one  who  would  be  drunk  on  Sundays. 
Fer.  Well,  my  daughter,  even  I  am  sometimes  cheerful  on  Sunday. 
Besides,  a  good  musician  does  not  need  to  be  sober. 
GrAN.  Suppose  he  should  refuse  to  take  me  ? 

Fer.  By  Saint  Cecelia,  the  sc^np  would  be  hard  to  i^lease.  Such  a 
chance  as  this  is  not  to  be  had  every  day.  Two  thousand  crowns  dower 
witli  a  girl  like  you,  Giannina,  besides  my  business— mine,  the  beloved 
pupil  of  Stradavarius.  Nonsense  1  Don't  worry  me  any  more  about  it. 
I  am  getting  old  and  need  a  successor,  and  whoever  the  winner  may  be 
he  shall  have  my  house  and  and  my  daughter. 

GiAN.  But  should  It  chance  to  be  


6 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


Fkr.  {tnterruptiiKj).  Yi\\oi\g\\  of  these  objections. 

GiAN.  If  the  winner — it  makes  me  laugh  to  even  think  of  it, — if  it 
should  be  your  apprentice,  Filippo  ? 

Fkii.  I  should  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  see  him  win;  and  if  he  brings 
me  the  golden  chain  you  shall  marry  him. 

G I A  X .  M arry  Fillippo  ! 

Fkr.  Why  not  ? 

GiAN.  A  hunchback  ? 

Feu.  Do  you  think  I  cannot  see  that  ?  But  were  he  twice  so,  with 
two  humps  like  a  camel— as  I  own  he  has  appeared  to  me  at  times— you 
should  marry  him  all  the  same. 

GiAN.  [xofUy  to  Jiers(^lf).  May  our  good  Lad>'  protect  me  ! 

Fkr.  Is  he  not  one  of  the  best  of  boys  ?  If  he  is  not  handsome  he  is 
a  great  artist.  You  know  I  am  a  severe  critic,  but  the  day  he  took  part 
in  our  little  concert,  while  I  sat  listening  and  looking  into  my  glass  of 
old  Astri — you  remember  the  gold  seal— he  made  the  strings  moan  be- 
neath his  bow,  and  in  his  playing  i)ut  such  grief  and  joy  that  I  felt  two 
big  tears  come;  I  tried  to  stop  them,  but  down  they  rolled;  and  that 
was  the  only  time  I  was  ever  foolish  enough  to  water  my  wine. 

GiAX.  I  resi)ect  him,  as  you  do,  father;  1  pity  him,  and  have  done  my 
best  to  help  him  forget  his  miser\'  ever  since  he  came  to  our  door  that 
winter's  day  begging  his  bread;  -but  how  could  I  love  him  ? 

Fer.  Come,  come,  come!  If  that  is  your  only  objection  let  us  stop 
talking,  and  I  will  go  and  get  some  wine  worthy  of  this  great  day. 

GiAN.  Let  me  go  for  you,  the  stairs  are  steep. 

Fer  No,  no,  1  can  manage  them  all  right  going  down ;  they  are  never 
steel)  and  crooked  until  I  come  up.  Next  to  drinking,  give  me  the 
ple.isure  of  choosing  the  wine.  [Exit,  l.  d. 

(GiANNiNA,  left  alone  a  moment,  sighs  despondently ^  and  sinks 
into  a  chair.) 

Enter  Sandro,  l.,  carrying  violin  in  a  black  wooden  case,  which  he 
places  on  counter, 

Sandro.  Alone,  Giannina? 
GfAN.  Sandro  !  {goiitg  to  him,) 

Sand.  Have  you  good  news  for  me;  or  does  the  master  still  keep  to 
his  resolve  ? 

GiAN.  More  firmly  than  ever.  He  is  determined  that  I  shall  marry 
the  prize  winner,  whoever  he  may  be  ? 

Sand.  He  is  cruel !    Did  you  tell  him  how  much  you  loved  me  ? 

GiAN.  (shyly).  I  told  him  "that  1  loved  you,  but  not  how  much;  that  I 
can  only  tell  to  you.  {extends  her  hands  to  Sandro,  rcho  embraces  her ; 
she  f(4e(ises  Jierself,  walks  over  to  the  counter  and  points  to  violin)  Is 
it  hnished  ? 

Sand.  Can  you  ask  ?  Does  not  my  only  hope  depend  on  it  ?  And  to 
think  that  to  day  in  a  public  contest' the  hapi)iness  or  misery  of  my  life 
is  to  be  decid 'd. 

GfAN.  Ai"e  you  satisfied  with  your  work  ? 

Sand.  That  depends.  I  have  made  it  by  every  rule  of  our  art.  choos- 
ing the  wood  and  vaj^nish  with  the  greatest  care;  it  is  an  mstrument 
worthy  a  master,  and  yet  

GiAN.  {ijifei'riiptnui  hiwA.  And  yet— why  do  you  doubt?  You  will 
win  the  prize— you  must  win  it !  My  father  is  the  b(*st  artist  ni  Cremona, 
and  it  is  from  him  that  you  have  learned;  what  other  master's  pupil 
need  you  fear  ? 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


7 


Sand.  None. 
GiAN.  Well,  then  ? 

Sand.  1  have  a  rival  in  our  own  workshop. 

GiAN.  Fillippo?    Are  you  sure  he  will  try  for  the  prize? 

Sand.  Yes;  1  heard  hiin  yesterday  tellin^i!;  your  father  that  he  would, 
the  little  viper.  Cursed  be  the  day  you  took  compassion  on  him  I  He 
thinks  you  are  free,  and  hopes  to  win  you. 

GrAN.  No,  no,  Sandro;  you  wrong  the  boy.  He  only  wants  the  gold 
chain  and  the  title  of  master;  he  does  not  want  me. 

Sand.  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  but  I  am  sure  he  will  win.  O  my 
darling,  I  have  never  suliered  so  in  my  life;  1  am  tortured  with  jeal- 
ousy. 

GrAN.  You  jealous,  Sandro  ?    You  foolish  boy  I 

Sand.  Yes,  I  am;  for  I  know  his  work,  and  it  fills  me  with  envy;  and 
soon  they  will,  all  know  it  as  I  do.  Listen :  The  other  night  I  was  at 
my  wuidow,  and  under  the  quiet  of  the  summer  skies  I  thought  of  you. 
h)  the  friigrant  darkness  of  the  garden  a  nightingale  was  singing,  and  its 
cieai  notes  mounted  in  ecstacy  to  the  stars.  All  at  once  I  heard  another 
song  as  touching,  as  divine  as  that  of  the  bird.  Breathless  I  listened, 
and  [)resently  within  the  shadow  I  saw  the  tigure  of  the  hunchback,  al 
alone.  His  violin,  arched  by  the  bow  that  trembled  in  his  hand,  poured 
forth  its  music  sweet  as  the  voice  of  Philomele  expressing  love  and  grief 
commingled.  The  plaintive  instrument  ;md  the  loving  bird,  in  turn, 
breathed  to  the  night  their  trills  of  crystal,  till  I,  enthralled  by  this 
harmonious  strife,  no  longer  knew  which  was  the  violin  and  which  the 
bird,  so  did  their  sweet  notes  blend  in  winging  flight. 

GiAN.  Does  the  success  of  a  rival  make  you  jealous  ? 

Sand.  I  know  it  is  a  feeling  unworthy  an  artist,  but  oh  !  if  he  should 
be  the  victor. 

GfAN.  His  victory  will  not  change  my  love  for  j^ou;  whatever  comes, 
I  promise  to  be  yours. 

Sand,  {embracing  her).  You  are  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world,  {noise 
a?i(l  shontx  heard  nnthoxd, 

GiAN.  What  is  that  noise  ? 

FiLLTPPO  dashes  in,  c.  d.,  closing  door  violently  after  him;  he  is  breath- 
less and  disordered. 

Ffllippo.  The  little  devils  !— they  had  almost  caught  me  ! 
GrAN.  What  is  it,  Fillippo? — who  were  they  ? 
F[L.  Some  little  blackguai'ds,  armed  with  stones  and  glass. 
GiAN.  Why,  you  are  hurt!  {to  Sandro)  Some  water^  quick  ! 
Frr..  It  is  nothing. 

Sand.  {l)ringing  icater).  Tell  us  how  it  happened. 

FrL.  It  is  really  nothing.  I  met  a  pack  of  those  good-for-nothing 
boys  just  now,  pelting  an^old,  half-blind  dog  with  stones.  I  could  not 
bear  to  see  them  tormenting  him^  so  I  pushed  my  way  into  the  crowd, 
telling  then^  to  have  some  pity ; -they  turned  on  me  furiously.  Ah, 
then  they  thought  no  more  of  the  beast;  now  they  were  hunting  the 
hunchback;  it  was  much  moi^e  amusing.  I  fled  down  one  alley  and  up 
another.  I  don't  doubt  they  would  have  finished  me  if  they  had  caught 
me;  but  now  I  am  here.  I  am  glad  the  poor  dog  got  the  chance  to 
escape. 

GrAN.  {bathing  his  forehead).  Poor  boy  ! 

FiL.  {looking  np  gratefully).  Thanks,  thanks  !    You  are  very  kind. 
GiAN.  Is  that  better  ? ' 

*«.  OF  ILL  LIB. 


8 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


FiL.  Yes,  indeed;  the  pain  is  quite  fj:one.  (Gianxina  stops  bathing  his 
forehead  ;  he  loohs  lonmjlf/  at  her  and  kfsses  her  hand.) 
Sa^d.  (aside).  He  loves  her!    I  was  not  rnistalven. 

E/iter  Fi<:iiRAia,  l.  d.,  a  little  more  intoxicated,  carrying  a  basket  with 
bottles  in  it. 

YvAi.  Don't  undtn^stand  it  at  all.  For  twenty  3  ears  the}^  have  been 
so,  red  seals  at  the  rig'ht,  green  seals  at  the  left;  now  why  should  they  be 
changed  ?  I  don't  reproach  them,  1  don't  reproach  anybody,  but  I  don't 
understand  it  at  all. 

GiAN.  Father! 

Fer.  You  still  here,  daughter?  Come,  help  me  to  dress.  I  must 
look  my  hnest,  for  when  the  last  bow  is  scraped,  we  will  have  a  dinner 
that  the  guild  will  be  proud  of.     [Exit,  r.      followed  by  Giannina. 

vSaind.  The  decisive. moment  will  soon  be  here,  Fillippo. 

FiL.  Yes,  comrade. 

Sand.  Is  vour  violin  ready? 

FiL.  Yes. 

Sand.  Are  you  satisfied  with  it? 
FiL.  Yes,  entirely.    And  you? 
Sand.  Not  altogether. 

FiL.  I  am  sorry;  for  if  I  fail,  your  success  would  make  it  easier.  Give 
me  your  liand,  comrade. 

Sand.  No  !  [Passes  brusqiudy  by  him  and  exit,  c.  D. 

Fii..  Jealous  !  That  is  the  trouble;  but  he  suffers— I  must  not  blame 
him  No,  that  cannot  be  it.  What  folly  to  think  that  with  all  his 
sti-enofth  and  beauty  he  should  begrudge  me  success  in  this.  It  would 
be  well  though  to  be  friends,  although  we  are  rivals.  He  does  not 
know  yet  how  lonely  I  am,  and  how  I  long  for  sympathy.  But  my 
beautiful  violin,  you  console  me  for  all.  Poor  instrument,  I  am  like 
you,  bent  and  crooked,  a  sensitive  soul  in  an  unshapely  case,  {goes  and 
gets  violin,  irJiirJi  is  in  red  case,  from  beliind  the  counter,  laying  it  on 
the  table)  Come,  let  me  see  you  once  again,  {opens  violin  case  and  leans 
over  if)  dear  one,  for  whom  1,  weak  and  tired,  have  had  the  courage  to 
work  so  many  days  and  nights.  Soon  from  the  depths  of  your  soul 
you  must  send  forth  the  scherzo  tliat  laughs,  the  song  that  weeps;  the 
world  must  hear  the  sublime  tones  that  sleep  in  your  heart.  I  want  to 
see  you,  to  touch  you  again;  I  will  not  wake  your  sweet  notes;  I  only 
want  to  see  myself  mirrored  in  your  golden  wood  once  more — for  the 
last  time,  {takes  violin  out  (f  case)  Good-bye,  my  friend;  we  must  [)art 
for  your  glory  and  mine.  But,  comrade,  whatever  your  life,  bohemian 
or  noble,  whether  you  make  the  peasant  dance,  or  thrill  to  the  touch  of 
a  master  in  the  great  world,  do  not  forget  me.  Have  I  not  ^^jiven  you 
your  exquisite  voice  ? — I,  the  hunchback,  who  have  breathed  into  you 
my  soul,  {puts  violin  l>ack  m  case)  I  am  a  child;  I  deceive  myself,  poor 
fool.  It  is  not  the  desire  for  glory  alone  that  has  given  me  strength  for 
the  task,  it  is  Giannina,  she  who  alone  has  pitied  me  in  this  hard  world. 
When  I  wandered,  a  little  vagabond,  to  her  father's  door,  she  only  did 
not  laugh  at  me.  No;  she  cannot  be  otlended  at  this  love  ihat  1  have 
hidden  from  my  childhood;  nor  at  my  wish  to  be  famous  that  she  might 
/ove  me.  If  I  win  1  will  not  insist  u])on  the  fulMllment  of  her  father's 
vow;  but,  perhaps  -wlio  knows  —her  lieart  is  still  free,  and  when  I  give 
her  the  golden  ciiain,  and  she  feels  that  the  ffame  of  genius  has  flashed 
from  this  frail  body  for  love  of  her,  perhaps,  as  she  is  the  child  of  an 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


9 


artist,  she  will  think  of  my  talent  and  forget  the  rest,  and  there  will  be 
so  many  reasons  that — Oh !  this  dream  will  kill  me. 

Enter  Giannina,  c.  d. 

GiAN.  (aside).  He  is  alone ;  perhaps  I  can  find  out  if  there  is  any  hope 
for  Sandro.  (aloud)  Filippo ! 
FiL.  {starting  from  his  revery).  Giannina  ! 

GiAN.  You  deserve  to  be  scolded.    To  think  that  you  have  not  told 

me,  and  that  I  alone  was  kept  in  ignorance  

FiL.  (interrupting).  Told  you  what  Giannina  ? 
GiAN.  That  you  were  trying  for  the  prize. 

FiL.  Ah !  Giannina,  you  would  have  been  the  first  to  hear  it  from 
me  had  it  not  been  for  your  father's  pledge.  1^  orgive  me,  Giaiuiina,  \i 
if  I  have  not  dared  to. 

GiAN.  O  put  that  part  of  it  aside;  my  dear  old  father  really  loves  me 
too  much  to  leave  my  happiness  to  chance,  but  every  one  has  a  right 
to  hope  for  the  chain,  and  you  most  of  all,  if  what  I  hear  is  true. 

FiL.  And  what  have  you  heard  ? 

GiAN.  That  your  violin  is  a  masterpiece,  and  that  you  will  certainly 
win. 

FiL.  I  have  done  my  best;  but  who  will  care  for  my  failure  or  my 
success  ? 

GiAN.  Who  ?   Are  we  not  all  your  friends  ? 

FiL.  Pardon  me;  I  am  over  sensitive  sometimes,  and  it  makes 
me  suspicious.  You  have  always  been  my  friend,  and  I  am  an  in- 
grate.  I  know  you  will  be  glad  when  I  tell  you  I  am  almost  sure  of 
success.  Of  course  when  I  began  my  work  I  was  careful  in  choosing 
^  the  wood— old  fir  for  the  body,  maple  for  the  neck — and  took  the  great- 
est pains  in  making  it;  but  all  that  is  nothing — other  violins  may  be  as 
good  in  that  way;— but  the  master  stroke  was  when  1  discovered  one 
night  while  I  was  at  work  the  lost  secret  of  that  wonderful  old  var- 
nish  

GiAN.  What !  the  famous  varnish  of  the  old  masters  ? 

FiL.  (excitedly).  Yes,  I  have  found  it;  and  to-morrow  I  can  be  a  gen- 
erous rival,  and  give  the  secret  to  them  all.  I  am  sure  of  it;  I  have 
compared  my  violin  with  a  famous  old  Armadi,  and  it  has  the  same 
tone— can  you  believe  it  ?— the  same.  Is  it  not  wonderful  that  from 
these  bits  of  wood  I  can  bring  out  a  note  that  will  fill  a  cathedral  ? 

GiAN.  (aside).  Poor  Sandro !  (sits  in  arm-chair,  resting  her  head  on 
her  hand.) 

FiL.  Since  that  night  I  have  hidden  my  happiness  like  a  lover.  My  life 
has  been  full  of  joy.  Every  morning  before  it  is  yet  dav  I  take  my  violin 
and  pass  through  the  sleeping  city  into  the  open  country.  There,  rest- 
mg  myself  on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  I  wait  and  dream  for  the  sublime  hour 
when  the  sun  shall  rise.  At  last,  when  the  horizon  begins  to  quiver 
with  light,  when  the  soft  rustling  about  me  speaks  ot  the  great  awaken- 
ing of  nature,  when  the  grass  trembles  and  the  woods  murmur  and  the 
twittering  of  birds  comes  from  the  thicket,  rapturously  I  take  mv  vioUn 
and  play.  Ah  !  do  you  understand,  it  is  the  recompense  for  all  niv  pain. 
I  play  madly,  accompaning  the  glorious  harmonies  of  the  breaking-  dav; 
the  long  sigh  of  the  wind  through  the  leaves;  the  ecstasv  of  the  bir(i«;^ 
and  my  precious  violin  trembles  close  to  my  heart,  and  mingles  with 
this  hymn  of  the  dawn  its  song  of  youth  and  joy. 

GiAN.  (aside).  O  Sandro,  Sandro  !  {(tJninl)  Is  "it  so  beautiful? 

FiL.  (taking  violin  from  case).  Listen  to  one  note  only. 


10 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


GiAN.  I  wish  to  hear  more  than  that.    Play  for  me. 

FiL.  (aside).  Het  voice  is  almost  tender !  Dear  Heaven,  does  she 
wish  me  to  succeed  ?  (aloud)  Do  you  really  wish  it  ? 

GiAN.  Indeed  I  dp.  (aside)  It  is  the  only  way  of  learning  the  truth. 

FiL.  Listen  then.  (hepUij/s;  Giannina  liste)is  an.cioitslt/,  shoicing  at. 
once  admiration  and  grief  ;  finalli/  she  rests  her  arms  on  the  table  and 
puts  her  head  doion,  iceeping)  What,  Giannina  !  you  weeping'  ?  Have 
I  made  you  weep  ? — I,  who  have  made  so  many  laugh  with  scorn  ?  Is 
it  not  like  a  voice  that  sighs  ?  O  how  how  grand  this  art  is  that  can 
make  me,  the  despised  hunchback,  bring  tears  to  your  eyes  !  I  am  no 
longer  the  outcast  of  yesterday;  I  have  won  the  right  to  lift  my  head 
with  pride.  You  have  wept,  and  I  need  no  other  glory.  No  honor  will 
be  so  precious  as  these  tears  from  your  dear  eyes. 

GiAN.  Stay  I  I  must  not  deceive  you.  I  understand  your  artist's 
pride;  I  share  it  with  you,  as  I  have  your  grief;  but  it  is  not  that  which 
makes  me  weep. 

FiL.  What  then? 

GiAN.  It  will  give  you  pain,  but  you  will  pity  me,  I  know,  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  too  have  dreamed  of  success  for  one  that  I  love,  and  that  all 
my  happiness  is  destroyed  by  your  success. 

*FiL.  Ah! 

GiAN.  You  see  I  did  not  know  of  your  genius:  you  had  kept  it  hidden 
from  me.;  I  thought  you  still  a  novice  at  your  work.  It  was  natural, 
was  it  not,  for  me  to  wish  success  for  the  man  I  loved?  If  I  had  known 
you  had  the  greater  talent,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  know  which  to 
be  gladdest  for.  I  should  have  been  prepared,  and  I  would  not  have 
wept  as  I  have  to-day. 

FiL.  You  love  him  ? 

GiAN.  Yes. 

FiL.  Sandro? 

GiAN.  (hoics  her  head  affirmatively).  He  also  hoped  to  succeed,  for  it 
would  have  united  us.  But  you  are  my  friend,  my  brother,  and  there 
is  no  bitterness  in  my  sorrow.  You  deserve  the  prize.  Forgive  me; 
but  my  love  was  stronger  than  1.  (d-eepi/K/.) 

FiL.  (la.yimj  violin  on  ta.hle\  Giannina,  do  not  Aveep,  I  beg  of  you. 
Indeed  I  sutler  as  much  as  you  do. 

Gtan.  How  cruel  I  am  !  I  had  forgotten  your  trouble,  and  that  your 
music  is  all  you  have  to  console  you.  It  is  over.  I  am  no  longer  sorry; 
I  would  rather  the  glory  should  be  yours.  You  are  a  great  artist,  and 
I  love  you.  (taking  his  'hand)  See,  I  am  ciTing  no  more.  I  wish  you  to 
have  it.  Look  at  me,  lam  smiling;  (sobhmg)  but  my  love  is  stronger 
than  1.  '  [Etyt,  c.  d. 

FiL.  Well,  it  is  ended.  Everything  has  been  said;  she  loves  another, 
and  why  not?  Shall  I  blame  her?  He  is  the  lover  she  would  dream 
of.  And  you,  hunchback,  have  you  never  looked  in  the  glass  ?  Blind — 
blind  and  mad  !  She  loves  Sandro  !  What  good  will  it  do  now  to  win 
the  ]mze  ?  I  wanted  to  please  her—  to  have  her  admire  me,  and  I  have 
succeeded  in  making  her  cry.  I  will  not  enter  the  contest ;  Sandro  shall 
have  the  prize,  and  there  will  be  no  more  tears.  I  will  destroy  my 
violin,  and  he  will  be  the  victor,  (  picks  np  violin)  And  you  whom  I 
have  fashioned  with  such  tender  care,  you  must  be  broken  too.  (stops 
sf(dde)i I //)  Whdit  madness  I  Sui)])ose  some  other  than  Sandro  were  to 
win  ?  I  could  give — {vlianging  hix  to)i^  eutiretn^  No;  it  is  too  much — 
the  sacrifice  is  too  great;  and  y<'t  by  renouncing  niy  work  and  changing 
our  violins  in  then-  cases,  it  could  be  easily  done.  The  instrnments  look 
precisely  alike.    Sa.iJ.ro  is  not  musician  enough  to  distinguish  between 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA, 


11 


his  work  and  mine  when  they  are  tried,  and  afterward  I  could  tell  him. 
They  are  going  at  once  to  the  judges;  no  one  will  open  them  again. 
She  must  not  weep  any  more,  poor  little  girl.  Come,  do  it  for  her  sake, 
{cJuinges  the  violins,  'putting  his  own  in  Sandro's  case)  It  is  done. 

Enter  Ferrari,  c.  d. 

Fer.  Come,  Sandro,  Filippo,  it  is  nearly  time.    Not  ready  yet? 

Enter  Sandro,  r.  d. 

Sand.  Yes,  quite. 

FiL.  And  our  violins  too. 

Fi-:ii.  I  hope,  my  boys,  that  one  of  you  will  win,  and  do  credit  to  your 
iiKister.  The  rest  may  rosin  and  scrape,  but  I  am  pretty  sure  the  prize 
is  ours.  I  liave  just  come  in,  and  the  people  are  going  in  crowds  to 
where  the  judges  meet.  You  actually  breathe  music  in  the  street. 
From  every  dark  corner  and  gable  you  hear  the  groaning  of  strings. 
Cremona,  with  this  medley  of  sounds,  seems  like  an  orchestra  before 
the  curtain  rises. 

FiL.  And  it  is  time  for  you  to  be  off,  for  Ihe  curtain  will  soon  be  up. 
Sand.  Will  you  follow  us,  Filippo  ? 

FiL.  No ;  you  know  how  they  mock  me  when  I  go  out.  Be  a  noble 
adversary  and  carry  my  violin  with  yours;  you  were  not  in  earnest  just 
now,  were  you,  comrade  ?    Do  me  this  little  service. 

Sand.  Very  well. 

FiL.  Thank  you.  {exit  Sandro,  l.  d.  To  Ferrari)  Are  you  not  go- 
ing to  see  them  crown  his  work  ? 

Fer.  Yes;  but  he  has  not  won  the  prize  yet.  You  have  as  good  a 
chance  as  he. 

FiL.  I  have  no  chance. 

Fer.  Come,  you  think  too  little  of  yourself.  If  you  are  not  as  straight 
as  a  steeple,  you  do  good  work,  and  that  is  what  will  win  the  prize. 

\Exit,  L.  D. 

FiL.  I  need  all  my  courage. 

Enter  Giannina,  c,  d. 

Giannina  not  gone  yet ! 

GiAN.  Filippo,  I  have  just  come  from  the  church.  I  went — forgive 
me,  my  heart  was  so  full — I  went  to  pray  that  Sandro  still  might  be 
successful;  but  kneeling  before  Saint  Cecelia,  I  felt  that  one  cannot  ask 
God  to  be  unjust;  and  I  made  a  vow  that  whatever  comes  to  be  always 
the  same  to  you.  Forgive  me,  do  you  not  ?  {lie  kisses  her  haf.d,  aird 
she  goes  out,  r.  d.) 

FiL.  How  she  loves  him  !  Had  I  been  strong  and  handsoir.c  she 
would  have  loved  me. 

Enter  Sandro,  l.  d.,  hurriedly,  in  great  trouble. 

Sand.  Filippo  !   Filippo  ! 

FiL.  What  is  the  matter  ?   Your  face  is  white;  what  has  happened  ? 
Sand.  It  was  infamous  of  me;  forgive  me,  forgive  me  ! 
FiL.  1  forgive  you.  my  friend  ?   For  what  ? 

Sand.  You  see  I  loved  her  so  much.  I  was  beside  myself;  I  could 
not  bear  to  be  outdone  by  a  rival  before  her.  When  i  had  your  violin 
in  my  liand,  the  temptation  came  to  me.  Frantic  with  grief  and  rage, 
I  yielded,  and  in  the  shadow  of  a  neighboring  doorway  I  changed  our 
violins  in  their  cases. 

V\\..  You  • 


12 


THE  VIOLIN  MAKER  OF  CREMONA. 


Sand.  I  carried  them  so  to  the  judges,  but  at  the  moment  the  expert 
opened  the  cases  I  tied.  Revenge  yourself;  tell  them  all  what  1  have 
done;  but  if  they  should  not  believe  you,  I  will  write  it,  and  tlien  I  will 
go  away  and  die;  for  the  shame  will  kill  me,  and  I  cannot  stay  when 
she  knows. 

FiL.  1  have  had  no  need  of  revenge.    You  have  brought  your  pun- 
ishment upon  yourself. 
Sand.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

FiL.  The  glory  of  my  work  I  yielded  to  you,  and  you  have  given  it 
back  to  me. 

Sand.  How  could  you  ? 

FiL.  I  had  already  changed  the  violins,  putting  mine  in  your  case. 

Sand.  I  cannot  seem  to  understand.    Why  did  you  do  it  ? 

FiL.  Because  I  adored  Giannina,  and  because  it  is  you  she  loves. 
If  1  have  aught  to  quarrel  with  you  for,  it  is  that  you  have  undone  all 
that  I  did  for  her  sake. 

Sand.  No;  I  have  committed  a  crime,  and  I  must  bear  the  punish- 
ment. Say  one  word  and  1  will  go  and  never  return;  and  if  Giannina 
forgets  me  when  I  give  her  up,  you  can  make  her  love  you;  you  alone 
are  worthy.    1  will  go— I  must  go. 

FiL.  Stay— obey  me  I  {hurrahs  and  shouts  of  victory  without.) 

Enter  Ykrrmu,  c,  d.,  lifting  his  hands  as  if  in  blessing  when  he  sees 
FiLiPPO.  He  IS  followed  by  the  whole  gnild  of  violin  makers,  and 
by  ttro  pages  dressed  in  the  colors  of  the  city,  one  carrying  on  a 
cushion  the  gold  chain;  the  other  FiLirro's  violin,  ornamented 
with  ribbous  and  flowers.    Giannina  enters  r.  d. 

Fer.  (/o  Fiupp()>.  Come  to  my  arms!  You  are  king!  master  of  the 
violin  makers  !  Befoi  e  all  I  want  to  keep  my  promise  at  once  to  the 
victor.  My  son,  my  successor,  come  to  my  heart.  But  first — I  had  al- 
most forgotten  the  golden  chain,  {lahes  thain  and  advances  to  Filippo, 
(rho  takes  it  from  him  (tnd  jmls  if  aro)(nd  Gtanntna's  neck.) 

Ftl.  It  gives  me  joy  to  have  it  tliat  I  may  give  it  to  Giannina,  praying 
her  to  keep  it  as  a  favorite  jewel  when  she  is  the  wife  of  Sandro. 

Gtan.  Dear  Filippo  ! 

Sand.  Mv  brother,  you  are  to  good  to  me  ! 

YvAi.  Sto|) !  Have  you  taken  a  vow  not  to  marry,  that  j^ou  give  up 
your  chain  like  this  ? 

Fir..  No,  good  master,  no;  but  T  am  going  away  to  carry  your  renown 
through  Italy.  I  have  had  a  dream,  but  that  is  over,  and  I  shall  be 
happy  if  you  will  but  regret  my  going.  {I iiniing  to  Qwi^m^A)  A\)(\  as 
the  days  go  on,  and  near  your  loved  one,  you  help  him  at  his  work,  if— 
as  at  times  it  happens  a  string  you  are  holding  snaps  with  a  plaintive 
sound,  think  then  how  in  tliis  hard  farewell  I  have  felt  my  poor  heart 
break.  You  are  helpless,  I  know,  to  make  it  difli'erent,  but  do  not  re- 
gret that  I  have  loved  you. 

Fi<jii.  Ingrate  !    Do  you  want  my  house  to  be  ruined  ? 

FiL.  Sandro  will  not  leave  you. 

Fkr.  This  is  a  wild  fancy.  You  give  up  fortune  and  happiness;  what 
have  you  left  ? 

FiL.  {taking  violin).  This  only;  but  it  shall  console  me. 


CURTAIN. 


SECOND-STORY  PEGGY 


COMEDY  DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS 

By  Katharine  Kavanaugh 

Author  of  'Watch  My  Smoke,''  ''Betty,  The  Girl  of  My  Heart/' 
"Oh,  Susan,"  "The  Porch  Climber,"  etc. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 
(in  the  order  in  which  they  appear) 

Mrs.  DeLancey,  a  woman  of  few  words. 

Billy  Durand,  her  star  boarder. 

Daisy,  a  Httle  smarter  than  she  looks. 

Murphy,  the  cop  on  the  beat. 

Helen  Henderson,  more  fickle  than  faithful. 

Kenneth  Sterling,  the  lucky  man  (?) 

Peggy,  wanted  by  the  police. 

Dexter,  a  detective. 

NoAir  Perkins,  fresh  as  a  country  egg. 

Plays  about  two  hours  and  a  half.  Costumes  modern.  Two 
interior  scenes.  Clever  and  humorous  dialogue.  Well  delineated 
characters.  Compact  and  logical  construction.  A  story  of  mod- 
ern romance,  set  in  the  environment  of  every-day  life.  Suited  for 
every  kind  of  an  audience.  Highly  recommended. 
Royalty  for  amateur  performance,  $10.  Price,  SO  cents. 

Address  all  orders  to 


THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


BURLEY'S  RANCH 

A  DRAMA  OF  THE  WESTERN  PLAINS  IN 
THREE  ACTS 

By  Anthony  E.  Wills 

Plays  about  three  hours.  Same  plain  interior  scene  for  the 
three  acts.    Border  costumes  of  1886. 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Jim  Burley,  owner  of  a  cattle  ranch.    Western  character. 

Steve  Tuttle,  a  broncho  buster.    Straight  lead. 

General  Blanchard,  commander  Fort  Macon.    Old  man. 

Lieut.  Robert  Thurston,  of  his  staff.  Heavy. 

Willie  Warren,  a  reporter.  Juvenile. 

McClinchy,  a  ranch  owner.    Western  t3^pe. 

So  Long,  a  coolie.  Chinaman. 

Jose  Rotaro,  a  vaquero.  Mexican. 

Roaming  Bear,  chief  of  the  Ute  tribe.  Indian. 

Black  Eagle,  an  Ute  Indian.  Indian. 

Margaret  Burley,  daughter  of  Jim.    Straight  lead. 

MiRA  WiGGS,  a  'Western  Wild-flower."  Ingenue-soubrette. 

Wakita,  daughter  of  the  chief.  Indian. 

Uriah  Burley,  Jim's  wife.    Old  woman. 

SYNOPSIS  OF  SCENERY 

The  action  of  the  drama  occurs  on  the  Burley  Ranch,  situated 
near  Snake  River  about  sixty  miles  from  Fort  Macon,  a  military 
post,  in  the  southern  part  of  Colorado,  the  latter  part  of  1886. 

ACT  I.  Interior  of  the  ranch  house.  October  30th.  "Ar- 
rival of  the  peacemakers." 

ACT  11.    Same  as  before.    Next  day.    **The  council  of  war." 

ACT  III.  Same  scene.  A  week  later.  November  7th.  'The 
pitch  of  battle." 

This  stirring  drama  is  highly  commended  as  most  effective, 
hut  easy  to  produce.  The  characters  are  ranchmen,  military  of- 
ficers, Indians,  a  Mexican,  a  Chinaman,  and  other  picturesque 
types.  Price,  35  cents. 

Royalty  $5  for  each  amateur  performance. 

Address  all  orders  to 

the  dramatic  publishing  company 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


TREASURE  ISLAND 


A  DRAMATIZATION  IN  FIVE  ACTS  OF  ROBERT 
LOUIS  STEVENSON'S  NOVEL 

By  Beulah  Chamberlain 

Fourteen  male,  one  female 
(which  may  be  taken  by  a  man) 
characters.  Three  scenes.  Cos- 
tumes, sailors'  and  those  of  today. 
Miss  Chamberlain  has  drama- 
tized the  novel  in  a  masterly 
manner,  has  given  a  dramatic 
version  that  is  powerful,  thrilling, 
sensational  and  romantic.  Read- 
ers, clubs,  schools  as  well  as 
dramatic  companies  will  find  this 
a  drawing  and  satisfactory  drama 
to  use.  Price,  50  cents. 

Royalty   for   amateur  perform- 
ance $10. 

Address  all  orders  to 


THE  DRAMATIC  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


THE  UNION  DEPOT 


An  entertainment  in  one  act  for  fiorty  speaking  char- 
acters and  many  more  people  may  be  added.  Helen  Gay- 
lor,  Luzetta  R.  Sanders  and  Cora  A.  Sanders  are  the 
authors.  It  plays  an  entire  evening.  Churches,  clubs, 
schools  all  find  it  a  good  money-getter,  next  to  'The 
Deestrick  Skule"  it  is  the  best.  If  you  have  given  'The 
Skule,"  try  "The  Union  Depot." 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

Mrs.  Spriggins,  who  takes  her  *'bus"  at  home. 

Mrs.  Martha  Ketchum,  who  has  lost  her  best  umbrel. 

Miss  Jerusha  Ketchum,  her  daughter. 

Bill  Bunch,  who  hates  Sunday  School. 

Station  Master,  who  regulates  everything. 

Ezra  Pitkin,  who  holds  on  to  his  trunk. 

Mrs.  Chatterton,  who  interviews  everyone. 

Rev.  S.  R.  Visage,  who  knows  that  in  the  midst  of  Hfe  we  are 
in  death,  and 

Many  other  wonderful  parts. 

The  one  scene  is  a  waiting  room  in  a  railwa}^  station. 

Royahy  for  each  amateur  performance  is  five  dollars. 

Price,  35  cents. 

Address  all  orders  to 

THE  dramatic  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CHICAGO,  ILUNOIS 


Hageman^s  Mafce-Up  Book 

By  MAURICE  HAGEMAN 

Price,  50  cents 

The  importance  of  an  effective  make-up  is  becoming  more  appar- 
ent to  the  professional  actor  every  year,  but  hitherto  there  lias  beeii 
no  book  on  the  subject  describing  the  modern  methods  and  at  tne 
same  time  covering  all  branches  of  the  art.  This  want  has  now 
been  filled.  Mr.  Hageman  has  had  an  experience  of  twenty  years 
as  actor  and  stage-manager,  and  his  well-known  literary  ability  has 
enabled  him  to  put  the  knowledge  so  gained  into  shape  to  be  of 
use  to  others.  The  book  is  an  encyclopedia  of  the  art  of  making  up. 
Every  branch  of  the  subject  is  exhaustively  treated,  and  few  ques- 
tions can  be  asked  by  professional  or  amateur  that  cannot  be  an- 
swered by  this  admirable  hand-book.  It  is  not  only  the  best  make- 
up book  ever  published,  but  it  is  not  likely  to  be  superseded  by 
any  other.    It  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  every  ambitious  actor. 

CONTENTS 

Chapter  I.    General  Remarks. 

Chapter  II.    Grease-Paints,  their  origin,  components  and  use. 

Chapter  III.  The  Make-up  Box.  Grease-Paints,  Mirrors,  Faco 
Powder  and  Puff,  Exora  Cream,  Rouge,  Liquid  Color,  Grenadine, 
Blue  for  the  Eyelids,  Brilliantine  for  the  Hair,  Nose  Putty,  Wig 
Paste,  Mascaro,  Crape  Hair,  Spirit  Gum,  Scissors,  Artists'  Stomps, 
Cold  Cream,  Cocoa  Butter,  Recipes  for  Cold  Cream. 

Chapter  IV.  Preliminaries  before  Making  up;  the  Straight  Make- 
up and  how  to  remove  it. 

Chapter  V.  Remarks  to  Ladies.  Liquid  Creams,  Rouge,  Lips, 
Eyebrows,  Eyelashes,  Character  Roles,  Jewelry,  Removing  Make-up. 

Chapter  VI.  Juveniles.  Straight  Juvenile  Make-up,  Society 
Men,  Young  Men  in  111  Health,  wuth  Red  Wigs,  Rococo  Make-up, 
Hands,  Wrists,  Cheeks,  etc. 

Chapter  VII.  Adults,  Middle  Aged  and  Old  Men.  Ordinary  Type 
of  Manhood,  Lining  Colors,  Wrinkles,  Rouge,  Sickly  and  Healthy 
Old  Age,  Ruddy  Complexions. 

Chapter  VIII.  Comedy  and  Character  Make-ups.  Comedy  Ef- 
fects, Wigs,  Beards,  Eyebrows,  Noses,  Lips,  Pallor  of  Death. 

Chapter  IX.  The  Human  Features.  The  Mouth  and  Lips,  the 
Eyes  and  Eyelids,  the  Nose,  the  Chin,  the  Ear,  the  Teeth. 

Chapter  X.    Other  Exposed  Parts  of  the  Human  Anatomy. 

Chapter  XI.  Wigs,  Beards,  Moustaches,  and  Eyebrows.  Choosing 
a  Wig,  Powdering  the  Hair,  Dimensions  for  Wigs,  Wig  Bands,  Bald 
Wigs,  Ladies'  W^igs,  Beards  on  Wire,  on  Gauze,  Crape  Hair,  Wool, 
Beards  for  Tramps,  Moustaches,  Eyebrows. 

Chapter  XII.  Distinctive  and  Traditional  Characteristics.  North 
American  Indians,  New  England  Farmers,  Hoosiers,  Southerners. 
Politicians,  Cowboys,  Minors,  Quakers,  Tramps,  Creoles,  Mulattoes, 
Quadroons,  Octoroons,  Negroes,  Soldiers  during  War,  Soldiers  dur- 
ing Peace,  Scouts,  Pathfinders,  Puritans,  Early  Dutch  Settlers. 
Englishm.en,  Scotchmen,  Irishmen,  Frenchmen,  Italians,  Spaniards, 
Portuguese,  South  Americans,  Scandinavians,  Germans,  Hollanders. 
Hungarians,  Gipsies,  Russians,  Turks,  Arabs,  Moors,  CafFirs.  Abys- 
sinians,  I-Iindoos,  iv^alays,  Chinese,  Japanese,  Clowns  and  Statuary, 
Hebrews,  Drunkards,  Lunatics,  Idiots,  Misers,  Rogues. 

Adiress  Orders  to 
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CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


PLAYS 

And  Entertainment  Books. 

E  keep  in  stock  the  most  complete  line 
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We  can  supply  any  play  or  book  in: 
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America  and  England.  It  contains  a  full! 
description  of  each  piece,  giving  number  of: 
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etc.  This  catalogue  will  be  sent  free  on  appli-  ! 
cation.  ' 

The  plays  described  are  suitable  for  ama-  ] 
teurs  and  professionals,  and  nearly  all  of  them  \ 
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